


Working It Out

by GhostScript



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Crime Scenes, Drug Addiction, Feelings, Gen, Pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostScript/pseuds/GhostScript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post relapse/post 2x23 and follow up after my first two posts (The Waiting is the Hardest Part & Getting on Track). A new case of murder to get Sherlock balanced. Completely out of my own head and finished POV of Joan and Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to comment. Even if it is to say you wish I'd put in more Clyde.

There were flashes of memory that shamed him deeply. Uncontrollable fits of obscenities and harsh half-truths. Vomiting. Cold sweats. Pain like electrified skewers through legs.

Swirled paranoia and junk withdrawal and climbing-itching-unnerving-needing drugs escape attempts that were all thwarted swiftly.

He’d fallen out the second story window and suffered a dislocated shoulder during his last ditch attempt.

Gregson had carried him back to his bedroom.

Joan and Mycroft had tended to him. Mycroft; how disappointed he’d looked when he had to hold his arms down while Joan intently treated every single scabbed notch.

 

He shuddered wishing he could black it out.

 

Alfredo came by every day. Sometimes he would talk to him about blame and forgiveness… weakness and strength.

Sometimes he would sit there and say nothing, just waiting incase he wanted to let his head spill open.

Sherlock hadn’t said more than one-word answers to anyone in a week since his most oppressing symptoms were quelled.

He felt like an island again, even if this was noticeably the most concerned loved ones he’d ever had in all of his years.

He didn’t know what triggered it exactly. He could say it was Joan moving out or his brother or any number of case related problems but truthfully he’d been wanting to relapse since he left Hemdale he just hadn’t admitted it out loud.

He had to face his fears, and his fear was using.

 

Now there was carefully picked out conversation and seemingly endless trays of tea left bedside- which is were he’d been instructed to stay with the order of ‘getting some rest’ but he’d managed to sneak away to the apiary in hopes the buzzing white noise and the clamor of the streets below would drone out his inner monologue.

The cement underneath felt cool and calm. It rained ever so slightly, moistening the air with a rich thick texture.

He was out of cigarettes and Mrs. Hudson was not in the mood to do him any favors after he’d politely refused the sandwich she made him by chucking it against the wall just hard enough to make the slices of turkey stick.

 

He said no and she didn’t listen. That was his reason.

The thought of food disgusted him- especially meat.

There is something to be said about the stripped down aftermath of narcotics that truly heightens the senses. The taste of salty sinew; his tongue would be aware of every pore.  

 

To run or to face the consequences… to forget them or forget himself… his fault.

The worst part was having to re do everything. Repeating the twelve steps, the numbered apologies. Mrs. Hudson now his constant nagging nanny.

Strike that, he noted, the worst part is that Watson and Mycroft were dating.

He felt bile creep up his asphogus.

 

Sherlock closed his eyes.

 -----------------------------------

 

“Are you ready?”

 

He pulled the covers over his head “Watson I don’t care how many times you pester me I have no intention of going jogging with you.”

It had been twenty one days and eight hours since he’d kicked but the cliché of himself in sweatpants publicly illustrating his newfound strive for wellness was still too sobering.

 

“Get dressed. I told Marcus we would meet him in twenty minutes. I’m sick of you moping. It’s time to come back.”

Oh how the roles had been reversed.

Joan loomed in his room with an armful of his clothes alerting HIM to a new case.

Gregson had kept his end of the bargain and never let the brass know of his ‘slip-up’ so they were still on call for the N.Y.P.D.

The compromise however was that Joan was in charge. She was the relay between them and the department and it was ultimately up to her when they would be taking a case. The brownstone had been dismantled and searched by the inch in the process of detoxifying. Sherlock’s routine was restricted and monitored.

In the past he would have done things his way regardless. Now he hated himself too much to put up much fuss.

She dumped the clothes on top of him “There’s fresh coffee and croissants from Payard’s. Take a shower.”

 

“This had better not be a stolen pie from an old biddy’s window sill or a lost cat stuck up a tree.” 

 

“I have no idea what it is. I just have an address. Ill wait in the kitchen. You’re welcome.” 

 

\------------------------------------ 

 

The address was an average looking one story house, obviously ransacked.

In the living room a large standing lamp had been knocked over adjacent to a scattering of decorative pillows, DVDs and knick-knacks in disarray and papers jutting out of opened desk drawers.

There are two large windows but the curtains were drawn.

A woman’s body is slumped against the largest wall, gunshot wound to the head and blue painters tape covering her mouth and constricting her hands.

Sherlock fished a pair of latex gloves from his inside coat pocket and stretched them over his hands as if his meltdown had been a figment of their imagination. He entered ahead of her and straight toward the body avoiding the gaze of Marcus who approached casually, his black leather-bound notebook in hand.

There are several officers milling about, rifling though everything on the mantel as they catalog framed photographs and a half eaten bag of microwave popcorn.

A crime scene photographer snapped a few shots of the woman’s seeping bullet hole while the M.E held up a small silver ruler beside it.

The smell punched her but she’d certainly smelled worse. A newly deceased body smelt horrid but one that had been gestating for weeks in a bathtub was easily ten times worse, and after she’d been exposed to that she felt her senses were tough enough to refuse a mask.

“Thanks for coming Joan.”

She nodded and smiled briefly.

“How’s he been?” he whispered out of earshot of Sherlock who was busily taking in the display.

“He’s getting better. I really owe you guys. You and Captain Gregson. If he didn’t have this to come back to… his work… I know I shouldn’t apologize for him but I know he regrets…” she bit her lip gently “I know he appreciates this. The best we can do is take it day by day. We should just treat things like they were before. He needs normal.”

“Don’t tell him this, but I actually missed him a little.”

She laughed which got strange looks from a nearby officer.

Marcus smirked and flipped open his notebook “We got one victim, female, age forty-three who has been identified as a Ms. Katherine Metzler. Recently divorced. Worked for Global Marketing Solutions in their legal department. Bound and gagged, single G.S to the head.”

“Two victims if you are counting her beloved Shiba Inu ‘Mr. Muffins’ who is also dead of a gunshot to the head.” He pointed to a orange tuft in the middle of a pool of blood at the base of the couch.

Joan grimaced “Who holds a grudge against a dog?”

Marcus shook his head and sighed “The dog may have been coming to her rescue and bit the attacker. We’ve swabbed for D.N.A from the particles of teeth, but with such a small head the force of the bullet at close range pretty much obliterated the face.”

Joan shuddered.

Sherlock’s eyed continued to survey the heap of dog “Any immediate suspects?”

Marcus closed his book and tucked it under his arm “No. The ex husband is in Cabo. Were still trying to reach him. Neighbors weren’t any help.  No one saw anything or anyone out of the ordinary. We’re leaning toward a hired hit due to the nature of the victims employment.”

 

Sherlock scrunched his face the way he does when he disagrees.

 

“Ms. Metzler had ties to all sorts of seedy dealing types though her job at G.M.S – According to her sister she worked as a personal secretary to the company’s head of legal. I’d be real surprised if she didn’t have some intel that got her killed.”

 

“There is no way this is even remotely a pro-job for several reasons. A professional comes prepared. Note the choice in tape- Painters tape? Not a professional choice by any means. Easily chewed through. Had to be the most available tape in the house. You may have noticed the victim was in the process of repainting the kitchen wall a very unattractive shade of mustard yellow.” He abruptly pointed towards the entrance to the kitchen “Most likely indicates the killer had no idea that she or the dog were home or even had intended on killing them at all.”

 

Joan put her hands on her hips, shifting her weight “So a B and E gone wrong?”

 

He frowned “Possibly, but for what? We should start with her co workers and see if we can’t suss out some office gossip.”

 

“I’ll get an officer to give you guys a ride.”

 ---------------------------------

 

The silence of the squad car was interrupted when Mycroft texted.

 

DINNER TONIGHT? MY PLACE OR YOURS ;) RED WINE.

 

She blushed as she saw the emoticon. She felt like she did in college when she had a crush on one of her professors. There was something about Mycroft that she found immensely charming and slightly forbidden.

 

Up until the buzz of her phone Sherlock had been staring sullenly out the window.

“No doubt that was my brother making another appointment for food related seduction.”

 

“It’s none of your business.”

 

“I’m just saying he ought to take you out somewhere that has nothing to do with eating whatsoever lest he be a one trick pony. Unless you have some sort of feeding fetish you’ve yet to admit. You feed him or he feeds you. I don’t know. Fatties and feeders.”

 

She punched him in the shoulder “Knock it off!”

 

He winced “It’s a well documented predilection – I think advanced in culture by the trend of sexualizing foods. I’m only saying if he’s insistent on courting YOU he ought to do a better job of it.”

 

“This coming from the man with the rotating door of one night stands.”

 

“I took Irene...” he turned back to the window “We had wonderful dates. Ones that expressed both of our interests not just mine.”

 

Joan rubbed him where she’d punched “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. “

\---------------------------------------- 

 

Joan walked in front of Sherlock this time.

Global ‘s offices looked like any other they had been to; white conference tables and grey carpet. 

They were met by another legal aid named Theresa who paged her boss.

Theresa was a homely and awkward. Her skirt was littered with cat hairs.

Sherlock was visibly fidgeting. She caught him rubbing the crooks of his arms.

“What’s your cats name?” Joan smiled at Theresa pointed to a small white hair that sprang from a fiber of her cardigan. She blushed and let out a laugh “No matter how hard I try I still wind up with their hair all over.”

“Did you spend much time with Katherine Metzler?” he interjected, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Oh not very well.” She pursed her lips “We had lunch together sometimes. She always brought yogurt. The kind with on the ads with whatshisname. John Stamos! John Stamos. He is so handsome. But we never really talked, I mean Katherine and I. Not me and John Stamos...”

 

Sherlock checked his phone. Mrs. Hudson took the task or looking after him to heart and had asked Joan to ask for advice on being a sober companion. Now he confessed she was making him check in every two hours.

 

The boss, a wiry man in a freshly pressed suit appeared and invited them into his office. He introduced himself as Norman Keeger.

He sat down behind a large desk “Sorry to keep you waiting, I had a very important conference call. What is this about exactly?”

 

“Katherine Metzler.” Sherlock snooped around as he spoke which confused Norman.

 

“What about her? Is she alright?”

 

“She’s been murdered.”

 

Mr. Keeger slumped in his seat “Oh no.”

 

Joan crossed her legs and leaned closer “We were wondering if there was anything you could think of that might have gotten her in trouble. Anything in particular that you were working on that involved sensitive information?”

 

He shook his head “No. No… We aren’t currently involved in ANY lawsuits. It’s actually been pretty quiet. We’ve been preparing some documentation for a new ad campaign for a computer company that wanted to find some loop holes—their whole strategy is glorified name calling of the competition. Katherine was an exemplary employee. She even found a few ways to skirt around any possible accusations of slander for the project. I was going to promote her.”

 

“Do you think the competition caught wind?”

 

“We were so early in the project- It was more assessing if it could be done. But this is regular stuff these companies deal with all the time. Murdering Katherine… I don’t see how that would help.”

“She did have a nasty divorce.” He offered “They fought a lot over who would get the dog.”

 

“Thank you for your time Mr. Keegler.” Sherlock was ready to go.

 

The cab took him home first, per Joan’s request, and after he waved goodbye she replied to Mycroft

 

YOURS. BRINGING A MALBEC. SEE YOU AT 6? XO

 

 ------------------------------------------------

 

 Mrs. Hudson sat on the armchair nest to the fireplace knitting a new turtle cozy for Clyde who happily crept by her feet investigating her handbag.

 

Sherlock spread the stack of photos that Marcus left for him on the floor in the layout of the crime, mimicking the angles of the shootings, peering for reference.

 

“Can I make you some coffee Sherlock? Alfredo will be by in a bit to take you to a meeting.”

 

Irritated he turned his back to her.

 

She stayed her hands and set the bundle of yarn in her lap “Or I could make you something to eat. You probably need to eat.”

 

He threw up his hands “I’m not going to a meeting tonight I am far too busy.”

 

“You have to.”

 

“I don’t have to do anything NANNY. One missed meeting won’t be the difference in whether or not I venture out to cop a couple bags of smack.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”

 

“Something about this is off.” He said to himself returning to the photos.

 

“Yeah.” She agreed, spying them disgustedly “It’s horrible… Oh my god is that a dead dog?!“

 

“It was a Shiba Inu named Mr. Muffins. Especially difficult to care for.”

He held up a recent pre bullet pierced photo of the dog with Ms. Metzler and her then husband.

 

“Aww. Mr Muffins was so cute. What a shame.”

 

\------------------------------------------------- 

 

Sherlock sat quietly beside Alfredo in the back row of the four thirty meeting.  He barely moved, aside from the constant tapping of his right foot that he was completely unaware of.

 

He tried to listen to the speaker as he rambled about the time he forgot his daughters fifth birthday- Instead he found himself assessing the man; how his gut overlapped the waist of his jeans, his wisps of ear hair, a giant sporadically placed mole. He felt sad, he felt mortal. Everyone wants more time.

This trembling old man who was speaking and dying and pointless.

 

Alfredo nudged his knee “You wanna get some pizza after this?”

 

He stopped tapping his foot and considered the rumbling in his stomach.

 

“Come on man, I’m buying.”

 

Actually pizza sounded pretty good. He wanted something greasy to coat his insides. Maybe some sustenance would level him, get him out of his own head.

Focus. Focus.

Joan had become so efficient at catching him disappearing down the rabbit hole of his psyche and snap him out of it.

He cannot rely on her for that anymore.

 

Half-way through his first cheesy slice he received a text from Bell.

 

RESULTS NEGATIVE FOR DNA ON DOG. XHUSBAND IN FOR QUESTIONING. SIT IN? 1 HR.

 

 ------------------------------------

 

Mycroft sliced off a chunk of raspberry cheesecake with a fork and held it toward Joan. She licked it off slowly “Mmmm.”

Several dishes stacked tall in the sink from an elaborate meal he had prepared.

Candles flickered on the table and countertop drifting a subtle scent of orchid.

 

“Secret recipe.” He teased, leaning in to kiss her. She caressed his stubble.

 

She would find this saccharine from any other man, but Mycroft… Mycroft was intelligent and caring and dutiful.

There was a time she had considered what it would be like to fuck Sherlock, but it was purely sexual, and directly after the first time she saw him fully nude. In her defense it had been awhile for her and from the sounds emanating from his room whenever he had company she felt confident it would be toe curling.

 

Mycroft was a different kind of lover. Attentive and methodical- Tantric.

‘French vanilla’ was the term she coined for it.

 

She tasted the cherry and tobacco notes from the wine on his tongue and felt the warmth of his face so close to hers.

Being near him she felt safe and free to let her guard down for the first time in two years.

 

Suddenly her phone buzzed.

 

“Sorry, I thought I put it on silent.” She hit the off button on the top and set it back down.

 

Mycroft ran his fingers through her hair and took a long sip from his glass.

 

“I’ll put it away.” She smiled.

 

He pushed it and the dessert away from them and began kissing her neck. Delicately she unbuttoned his white cotton shirt.

“To the bedroom?” he asked with a palpable want.

 

The phone buzzed again vibrating the fork against the porcelain plate.

 

She sighed and picked it up “Maybe I should make sure it isn’t important.”

 

He exhaled audibly accepting defeat. “Sherlock?”

 

MTG W/HUBBY. CM 2 11TH.

EAT FSTR.

 

\-------------------------------------------- 

 

 By the time she arrived at the station Marcus and Sherlock were already in interrogation room two so she joined Gregson behind the two-way mirror.

 

 “Ex husbands alibi checks out, he was in Cabo. Says the divorce was because he never wanted to be ‘tied down,’ you know the usual self-serving d-bag. Seems genuinely upset about the dog though.”

 

“I don’t get it why is he in interrogation if he isn’t a suspect.”

 

“Sherlock is convinced the victim knew her assailant. Our idea is to make him sweat long enough to see if maybe he had a friend do it or maybe get a different angle. See who was a regular at the house.“

 

Gregson flipped the audio back on so they could listen in.

 

The ex husband Geoff sat back in his seat with his legs far apart. Joan was thankful for the table that blocked her view of his crotch in the ill-fitting blue shorts he wore. His yacht cap rested on a tan thigh.

“Look, I’m real sad about what happens but I really don’t know what else to tell you. I was about six or seven margaritas deep before I even got the call and im still trying to process.”

 

Sherlock made no attempt at hiding his distain.

“Who took care of the dog while you and Katherine were working?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your and Katherine’s treasured pet. Mr. Muffins? Who looked after the dog while you were indisposed? Surely you wouldn’t have put it in a kennel or left it to its own devices in the house. That breed of dog does require an amount of upkeep.”

 

“That’s the worst part. That dog woulda been fine if I had gotten to keep her. It was my investment, I paid for it; all the vet bills, the fancy foods and doggy training classes. I loved that dog! I tried to keep her but it’s the one thing that Kat won outta the divorce. We hired a dog sitter, a young woman, real perky ass. Part of what finally put the nail in the coffin of the marriage, pardon the phrase. She caught me uhh… well you know... To the dog sitter.“

 

Marcus flipped to a new page in his book “You got a name for this dog sitter?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Samantha Trueman. Her number is written down in my address book, I’ll get it for you.”

 

Gregson flipped the switch again and turned to Joan “Hows the new digs?”

 

“Oh it’s nice. A lot more uninterrupted sleep and a lot less questionable milk left in the refrigerator…Thanks again for the champagne.”

 

He chuckled. “Your welcome. For what it’s worth Joan I’m glad you called me to help him. I’m glad he knows I would. He hasn’t mentioned anything, but he’s different now. I can tell. I actually feel like he really trusts me.”

 

\-------------------------------------------- 

 

 Joan caught up with Sherlock near the soda machine. He wiped the mouth of a can of Mr.Pibb clean with the corner of his t-shirt.

“Rat excrement” He explained. “You’d be disgusted if you knew what this can has seen.”

 

“Gross.”

 

“I feel quite confident that ‘Captain Tiny Shorts’ had something more to do with this then he has confessed but to what extent I am unsure. He was definitely doing more than wanking, that is certain. It would make sense if he were having an affair with the dog sitter that the two could collude in the killing of Ms. Metzler but one would assume it would be to the extent of retrieving ownership of the dog. Since the dog also fell victim and the house staged as that of a burglary I’m still figuring out.”

 

“Thomas- Captain Gregson said you believe Ms. Metzler knew her attacker. Why?”

 

“Her cheeks weren’t damp with tears and her eyes weren’t puffy from pleading for her life. There’s barely any sign of struggle on her wrists. I think she was unaware of the gun, knew the assailant and thought she could ‘reason her way out’. A bold choice; surely… Sadly not the right one. I’d wager that Ms. Metzler knew her attacker and didn’t think these were her last moments.”

 

Joan followed him down the hall “So you think the dog was shot after Katherine?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I don’t get it-- If that were the case why wouldn’t she just give up the goose? Whatever they were looking for. Especially if her dog was there. From what I’ve gathered that dog was like her surrogate child.”

 

““I don’t believe she knew what her killer was talking about. The intruder clearly mistook her approach for uncooperativeness and or hostility and added the duct tape for the mouth – running out I might add—didn’t reach past the corner of her mouth whereas there was more than ample on her wrists.”

 

“What about the dog?”

 

“The gunshot awoke the dog, but it didn’t attack. I found that strikingly unusual. The dog was familiar with the attacker as well. If you look at the splatter from where the dogs blood and brains were burst you’d note the trajectory of the bullet was at a very peculiar angle; angled slightly to the left which would only happen if they turned her head to look away as they pulled the trigger.” He demonstrated holding the can up as the unfortunate pooch.

 

“Remorse for killing the dog but not the woman? The gunshot in Ms. Metzler was straight on.”

 

“Exactly. Which is why I am quite excited to see what unfolds with the dog sitter.”

\------------------------------------------------

The sun shone brightly through the bedroom windows at Mycroft’s.   
There was no dust.   
Joan yawned whole heartily and reached over him to check the alarm clock. 7:30. Early enough to fit in a jog before she would hear any news back on the case.   
She didn’t feel as if she’d been much of an asset this time anyway.  
Did she need to cohabitate with Sherlock to be a good detective? Like method acting… She imagined herself brooding like him and giggled.   
Mycroft nestled his head to her chest. Sleeping in is always an option too. 

It was 8:30 by the time she got dressed in her pants from the day before and a borrowed shirt from his closet. She pulled her hair into a bun and rinsed her face with soap and water. Gargled with mouthwash. They weren’t at toothbrush level yet. 

Mycroft offered her breakfast but she politely declined while slipping on her black boots. A coffee on the way to the station would suit fine. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

Joan was astonished to hear Sherlock had not beaten her to the station. He wasn’t pestering any detectives or conducting messy experiments to prove his deductions.  
Marcus assured her that he had texted him as well as soon as he got word.  
She rested her latte on his desk and dialed Sherlock.   
It rang three times before he finally answered

“Watson.”

“Hey Sherlock are you on your way down? The phone number we got from the ex husband is for the suspects mother’s house in Queens. Bell called her early this morning but her mom hadn’t seen her in a couple days and is worried sick.”

She paused for the usual barrage of interjections he’d spout at the first hint of a development only to be met with silence.   
“Well get this.” She continued, “N.Y.P.D put out an A.P.B and already got a hit; apparently officers got a call about a disturbance the night of the murder- reports of young woman matching her description, screaming in an alleyway covered in what they thought was red paint… turned out to be blood and the woman was admitted to the psych ward at Bellevue. We’re just waiting on you to head over.”

“The temptress dog walker…” He muttered.

“Samantha. Yes…” Joan sensed his attention was elsewhere. Was he a step ahead of them or ?  
“Sherlock where are you? You sound distracted.” 

“Union Square.”

“What are you doing in Union Square?”

“I procured some heroin. Don’t worry I’ve disposed of it.“

“Disposed of it how?!”

“In the literal sense. I’ve just flushed it away. I realized something… And I don’t think you should be expecting a relapse any time in the near future. I just want to work. Pick me up at the Brownstone.”

Click.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Joan burst in almost knocking over Mrs. Hudson and the hat rack. Livid was an understatement.

“So what is this magical realization that is somehow going lift the weight of worry that the next call I get is about how you overdosed.”

“I did a swab like you showed me Joan, he is still clean. Doesn’t mean he isn’t in the dog house though.” Mrs. Hudson closed the front door gently and vanished in the direction of the kettle.

Sherlock sat on the small round ottoman in front of the fireplace. He wore a ratty old mohair sweater with the sleeves rolled up over a collared shirt and his usual tight pants. He wore the turtle print socks she bought him on a whim.  
He caught her off guard in moments like this and it made her heart melt. She could almost see the hapless little inside. 

“I was trapped in a storm. All the lightning rods I thought were going to be my destruction, Irene, you, my own self importance… And then the storm passed and I’m still here, exposed. I have been a colossal idiot.“

“I could have told you that.”

“I’ve got the chance to hit a reset button thanks to you… and my brother. I’m not surprised you chose him. He is superior in a lot of facets. Promise me you won’t tell him that- His head is liable to pop like an over inflated balloon.”

Joan took his hand, letting it linger for a moment and pulled him to his feet “Detective Bell is waiting for us outside.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

The white clad orderly guided them clipboard first to Samantha Trueman’s room. He handed them her chart. “We thought it was untreated schizophrenia. She didn’t have an I.D or any personal effects other than a set of keys. We sedated her and ran some tests but were still waiting on the results. “

“Hopefully her mother can shed some light on things. She should be here any minute. How was Samantha this morning?”

“Still delusional. No idea where she is or who she is she just kept muttering something about being there to find her ticket, and demons.”

“The bloody clothes?”

“All in plastic bags. I’ve already handed that over to an officer.”

“No doubt it will test positive as Katherine Metzler’s.”

Samantha lay in a fetal position on the bed.   
Joan cautiously approached speaking calmly and soft “Samantha?”

The girl was wide eyed and startled, but sat up. Sherlock stayed back knowing the more tactical approach was Joan’s soothing face, not his brash onslaught. 

“I am so sorry. “ She began to weep “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I wanted my ticket. He left me a ticket I know he did he said he would take me. I went to get Muffins. To bring Muffins to him. That was the plan. Oh my god I don’t know what I did. I thought Kat knew where it was… We’d been planning to go since before the divorce.”

“You and Katherine Metzler's husband? You were in a sexual relationship while they were still married?”

“Yeah, it just sort of happened. One night I fell asleep on their couch after a day at the dog park and-“

“It’s ok, just tell us what happened.” Joan comforting swept the hair from Samantha’s tear streaked face.

“It’s still blurry. I thought she was a demon. Her eyes began to glow I got scared. I grabbed the gun from the hall closet to protect myself but she started laughing at me and the laughter was so loud and I don’t know what came over me I just pulled the trigger. You have to understand, I’ve been having… visions. For the last two weeks. I didn’t even know if any of it was real- I didn’t know until just now when they told me. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I’m so scared. I’m going crazy.”

“I doubt it.” Sherlock palmed his temple “You seem quite lucid now. From the sounds of it someone was dosing you with hallucinogens. Were you taking any medications?”

“Just some diet pills. For Cabo. Geoff bought me a sexy bikini. I wanted to look good.”  
When Samantha looked up to see her mother the shame engulfed her and she cried so hard she could barely breathe. Sherlock inched his way out of the room and back into the lobby waiting room, Joan in toe. 

“Feels a bit like a bad porno, doesn’t it?” She sided up next to him

Sherlock laughed at her insight, especially imagining Watson watching porn. There was one evening he heard a low hum coming from her room only to realize she was abusing a hand massager. He lingered his ear at her door before knocking to see if she wanted some eggs. Her feathers so ruffled… He likened it to seeing his first nipple on a family trip to France; exhilarating and inappropriate.   
“Could have been worse. Could have been the babysitter.”

“You were right about Geoff not telling us the whole story, but this isn’t shedding any light on why Samantha was hallucinating. Drugged diet pills? Why? “

“I don’t think it was the diet pills. Geoff doesn’t strike me as that capable or even that malicious... I imagine he gave her those pills so that she would genuinely lose weight. There isn’t much of a gain for his paramour to be seeing demons. Unless he gets off on that sort of thing.”

“They are going to check Samantha’s room and test the pills… Pull Geoff back in for questioning. Maybe that will illuminate another possibility. Call it a gut instinct but there is still more to this.”

He poured himself a white Dixie cup of cold water from the dispenser in the corner, knocking it back like a shot of tequila.  
“Gut instinct? I agree with your entrails Watson. In fact lets leave Geoff to Detective Bell, I think we ought to pay another visit to Global Marketing Solutions.”  
He whipped his phone “I’m calling Marcus.”

Joan rolled her eyes “You remember that he’s in the other room, right?”

“You do remember that god awful crying, do you not? I’d like to stay as far away from that as possible.”

He turned away from her, holding up a finger to her face as is that should shush her judgment.  
“Marcus. Yes I know where you are. Yes well it wasn’t- Just have the M.E text me the tox results for Ms. Metzler. Yes. Ketamine.” 

“Ketamine?” Joan crinkled her nose.

“Gut instinct.”

\---------------------------------------------------  
YES ON KETAMINE. 

Sherlock thumbed a quick response on his phone before hopping into the cab.

When they reached G.M.S it didn’t take long for the pieces to fit. Geoff had intended on taking her with him but when she started showing signs of mental degradation he got spooked and came up with the lie that he’d lost their tickets somewhere. She assumed it was the last place he was, visiting his dog.  
The poison was never intended for Samantha at all, In fact Theresa, the tawdry legal aid had been furiously jealous of Katherine, and in an attempt to get her fired, gifted her a case of her favorite brand of yogurt laced with injections of her cat’s medication. Not only did she believe she deserved the promotion, she also had a secret shrine to their boss, Mr. Keegler, hidden away in the top drawer of her desk, and viewed the newly single Ms. Metzler as her only competition.   
What she didn’t factor in was how sick of the yogurt Katherine had become, leaving it in here fridge for Samantha as a snack for her visits with the dog. The ketamine mixed with the Ephedrine in the diet pills was a violent combination of side effects, causing the hallucinations and paranoia. 

\----------------------------------------------

“What made you link it to Theresa?” Joan asked, handing him an Americano in a to-go cup.

“You noticed the cat hairs on her suit when I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. You engaged her in conversation where she easily opened up about her ‘lady-boner’ for John Stamos as well as saying she’d not really spoken to Ms. Metzler. I found that hard to believe, someone like her has to fill every void with inane small talk- So YOU brought it to light that she was lying. You said gut instinct and I just knew. My gut instinct is to trust that you see things that I don’t. Then it was simply a matter or reviewing. “

“That is one of the most sincere ‘thank yous’ I have ever heard Sherlock. I really appreciate it. ‘Lady-boner’?”

He shrugged “Couldn’t think of a better term at the time.”

They made their way down the steps of the community center and spotted Alfredo setting up the chairs for the meeting.

 


End file.
